


what's a ghost to a nonbeliever

by countthestars



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ghosts, M/M, tagging character death because one of the characters is a ghost
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-08
Updated: 2014-02-08
Packaged: 2018-01-11 16:01:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1175014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/countthestars/pseuds/countthestars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Liam shoots Zayn a nervous look. “Zayn’s not,” he starts, clearing his throat. “Zayn doesn’t really believe in ghosts. He’s a, whatchamacallit, a--”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“A skeptic,” Harry says, green eyes gleaming. “How… intriguing."</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	what's a ghost to a nonbeliever

**Author's Note:**

> warning: character death occurs off-screen, prior to the beginning of the story, and isn't explicitly described.
> 
> this started off with the idea of niall and harry hosting an amateur ghost hunting show and somehow devolved into 13k of ot5 friendship. i'm sorry, i don't know how this happened. it is ghostfic, but there's a happy ending, i promise.
> 
> title adapted from 'no church in the wild' by kanye and jay-z, ft. frank ocean

This is getting ridiculous.

Zayn surveys the kitchen floor, which is currently covered in broken egg shells and splattered yolks. If he cocks his head, he can make out a vaguely phallic shape.

He takes a deep breath, counts backwards from ten. It doesn’t help the pit of rage boiling in his stomach.

“LIAM!” he shouts, not moving from his spot in the kitchen doorway. “What the _FUCK_?”

It takes a minute, but eventually Zayn hears a quiet groan and the sound of soft footsteps padding down the hall, the wooden floors creaking beneath each step. Liam reaches him a moment later, jaw cracking as he yawns, rubbing the sleep from his eyes with both hands. Zayn feels an immediate sense of guilt, having woken his flatmate on the one day that he gets to sleep in, but honestly.

An entire carton of eggs has been smashed all over the kitchen floor. Zayn deserves an explanation.

“What’s up?” Liam asks, voice still rough from sleep. He follows Zayn’s dark gaze into the kitchen and Zayn can feel the surprised puff of air as Liam gasps. “Is that a dick?”

Zayn sighs. “It’s a fucking mess. Are you telling me this wasn’t you?”

Liam shoots him an offended look, all sad eyes and betrayed eyebrows. “You think _I’d_ smash your eggs all over the floor? In the shape of a _dick_?”

Rubbing at his temple, Zayn represses another sigh. “Well, it wasn’t me, Liam. Who the fuck does that leave?”

Hunching his shoulders, Liam turns away from the catastrophe that is their kitchen. “Look, Zayn, I know you don’t believe--”

Zayn holds up a hand, cutting Liam off. “Yeah, yeah,” he groans. “I know your ‘theory.’” He refrains from making air quotes, but only just. “Are you _sure_ you haven’t given anyone a spare key? Should we check the windows? Maybe someone’s been sneaking in through the fire escape.”

Liam levels him with a look. “Zayn. _We live on the 7 th floor_. None of the ladders are even accessible from the ground. No one has been sneaking into our apartment.”

Zayn wants to question how Liam even knows the word ‘accessible’ but, like, priorities. One mystery at a time.

“Liam,” he starts, but this time its Liam’s turn to cut him off.

“I know, I know. ‘Ghosts aren’t real.’” Zayn narrows his eyes at Liam’s snobby tone, no doubt an extremely inaccurate impression of Zayn. He does _not_ sound like that. Liam gestures to the sad, eggy dick on their floor. “But how else do you explain this, Zayn?”

“There are literally a million explanations that make more sense than a ghost. Honestly. What kind of ghost even makes a dick? They’re supposed to, like, write creepy shit in blood or something.”

“You have a lot of opinions about how ghosts should act for a nonbeliever,” Liam huffs.

Zayn rolls his eyes. “Help me clean this shit up. Then we’re going to the hardware store. I want locks on all the windows.”

Liam shakes his head like he’s disappointed, but trudges into the kitchen and grabs a roll of paper towels.

He tosses it to Zayn, who catches it and promptly shivers.

“Someone just walked across your grave,” Liam intones knowingly.

“Shut up, Liam.”

-

Zayn buys hook and latch locks for all the windows and hovers anxiously as Liam spends the better part of an hour painstakingly installing each one. He checks and double checks every lock before he goes to sleep, makes sure both the deadbolt and chain on the front door are latched shut.

The next morning when Zayn wakes up, the flat is freezing. He soon realizes it’s because _every single window_ is wide open.

Liam doesn’t say _I told you so_ , but the triumphant look on his face is enough. Zayn seriously considers moving out for an entire forty-five seconds until he remembers that would require picking up extra shifts at the bookstore.

Haunted or not, the rent here is dirt cheap.

When Liam enthusiastically proposes they hold a séance, though, Zayn is quick to shut down the idea.

“Let’s just get really, really drunk,” he suggests instead. Then he can blame anything unusual on the alcohol. An all-around solid plan, he thinks.

Liam’s reluctant to agree, and when he finally does cave, Zayn knows his victory is fleeting. This is far from over.

-

“Zayn! Oh my god, Zayn, come look at this!” Liam sounds positively giddy with excitement, which in all honesty, is pretty standard for him.

Wrapping his duvet tighter around himself, Zayn burrows further into his bed. If it’s really important, Liam will keep shouting. It’s probably just a cute picture of some puppies, nothing Zayn hasn’t seen before.

A book on Zayn’s shelf falls over with a loud thump. Zayn glares. “Ghosts aren’t real,” he says aloud, but softly enough that Liam won’t overhear him from the living room.

Another book topples over. Zayn grits his teeth. “Not. Real.”

“Zaaaaaayn,” Liam calls again, sounding a bit put out by the lack of response. Suppressing a sigh, Zayn crawls out of bed and stalks to the living room. Liam is sitting on the couch, curled up with his laptop resting on top of his thighs. He pats the empty space next to him. “C’mere. Wanna show you something.”

Zayn plops down next to him, resting his cheek against Liam’s shoulder easily as he snuggles into the couch. Liam’s got a tab to YouTube open and angles his laptop a bit until the screen is facing Zayn. “Watch this,” he instructs, in case Zayn somehow missed the implication this was what Liam wanted to show him. He clicks the play button and the video starts.

“Hiiiiii,” says a tall, gangly kid with a mess of curls. He seems to be standing in a garage, staring into the camera with an intense gaze. “I’m Harry.”

“And I’m Niall!” exclaims a second boy, all bright blue eyes and bright blonde hair. “Welcome to _Ghost Hour_ ,” they chant in unison.

Zayn flicks his gaze to the video time. It’s less than 10 minutes.

“ _Ghost Hour_?” he whispers to Liam.

“Shh, just watch!” Liam shushes him. Zayn rolls his eyes, but slumps into Liam’s side nonetheless. If he’s going to be forced to watch a dumb video, he’s at least going to be comfortable.

On the screen, Harry explains in this slow, morbid voice that he and Niall are “amateur ghost hunters, dedicated to finding answers and explaining the unknown.” Niall showcases their ‘scientific’ equipment, which seems to consist of a lot of dodgy looking electronics duct-taped together. Half the video is over before they even get to the scene of the ‘haunting,’ a dilapidated farm house covered in graffiti. There are a lot of artsy black and white shots of the house and overdone transitions as Harry’s deep voice explains the serious of hauntings that have plagued the house over the past fifty years.

Zayn muffles his laugh into Liam’s shoulder, and Liam shoots Zayn a venomous look. He silently jabs his finger at the screen, where the blonde, Niall, is using what seems to be a recorder taped to a flashlight to do something that sounds vaguely like science.

The clip ends with both boys back in the garage, analyzing their ‘evidence.’ The results are, shockingly, inconclusive, but Harry vows they’ll continue their search on next week’s episode.

Liam turns to Zayn as the credits roll, an expectant look on his face. “Well?” he asks.

“Um,” Zayn says. He’s not sure what response Liam is hoping for, but the kicked-puppy look on Liam’s face tells him that wasn’t it.

“What?” Zayn groans, exasperated and a little unwilling to take responsibility for putting that look on Liam’s face. It’s not like it’s his fault Liam showed him a dumb video on the internet and expected Zayn to be impressed or something.

“I want to hire them.”

“ _What?_ ” Zayn repeats, incredulous. “Hire them? For what, exactly?”

“To investigate our haunting!” As if to punctuate his words, a crash sounds from the kitchen. Zayn grinds his teeth to smother a groan. If anyone fucks with his coffee maker, there will be hell to pay.

“We can’t afford to pay for…” Zayn swallows, takes a second to compose himself. “To pay for _ghost hunters_ , Liam.” _Honestly_.

“Oh! Well that’s the thing, innit? We don’t actually have to pay them, just, like, offer them a couch to sleep on while they, you know, investigate.”

Zayn narrows his eyes suspiciously. “You seem to know an awful lot about their business practices.”

Liam flushes, his whole face blooming a truly brilliant shade of red. “Oh, um. I mean. I may have… invited them, already?”

Zayn can’t suppress his groan this time. A cupboard in the kitchen bangs repeatedly. It’s probably just a draft.

“Please, Zayn.” Liam says. “ _Ghost Hunters_ wouldn’t respond to my emails. And I think these guys are legit! Look, they have a ton of followers…” Liam clicks on their YouTube channel link, but Zayn is too busy staring at Liam in disbelief.

“You emailed _Ghost Hunters_?”

Liam shrugs, ducking his head.

“Shit, Liam,” Zayn sighs. “You could have at least asked me to proofread.”

Liam smiles, the kind that crinkles his eyes and makes his whole face scrunch up. “Yeah, well. We’re gonna get prime time on _Ghost Hour_.”

“Can’t wait,” Zayn says. It’s only a little bit sarcastic.

-

Less than two weeks later, there’s a loud knock on the front door. Zayn doesn’t stir from the couch, too used to the loud banging noises that have been plaguing their apartment more often than not lately. It’s not until someone starts shouting, “Hello? Is anyone home?” that he realizes there’s actually someone at the door and it isn’t their resident ghostie (which doesn’t _exist_ , he reminds himself sternly) playing another trick. Liam’s still in class, so it’s up to Zayn to answer the door.

He opens it with a creak and standing in front of him are the now familiar hosts of _Ghost Hour_. Harry is taller in person and his curls look a bit greasy up close, held back from his face with a headband. He smiles beamingly at Zayn and dimples the size of canyons bloom on his cheeks. Niall is a bit shorter, closer to Zayn’s own height, but his cheerful grin is no less devastating.

There’s a reason they get so many hits on their videos, Zayn thinks, and it doesn’t have much to do with ghosts. Niall offers Zayn a firm hand, purring in his Irish lilt, “You must be Liam. Nice ‘t meet ya, mate!”

“Ah. ‘M name’s Zayn, actually. Liam’s flatmate? C’mon in.”

Zayn shows them to the living room, and for once the flat is noticeably silent. Perhaps their ghostie is shy in the face of actual ghost hunters. Like the way your car makes a weird nose until you take it to the shop. Maybe their apartment just needs a good oil change. Zayn isn’t exactly sure how that metaphor works with ghosts, but he’s not the ghost hunter here, is he?

Not that ghosts are real, or anything.

“So!” Harry says, settling onto the couch and grinning brightly. “Liam’s email was… interesting, to say the least. Maybe you can fill us in a bit more?”

Zayn’s saved from answering when another loud knock sounds on the door. He’s a bit relieved, maybe, that the noises are back. He thinks the only thing more humiliating than having ghost hunters investigate his flat is not even having a ghost for them to hunt. Or, like. Whatever.

He feels a bit of tension leaking out of his body, but then Niall mumbles, “that must be Josh, I’ll just go grab the door quick,” and slinks from the room. At Zayn’s questioning look, Harry explains, “Josh is our cameraman. We made him park the van.” He beams, as if this is a particularly interesting fact.

A moment later Niall reappears with another boy in tow, weighed down with bags. He wastes no time settling them onto the living room floor, digging out a camera and tripod.

“So,” he says, “ready to get started?”

-

Both Harry and Niall are perched on the couch on either side of Zayn as Josh fiddles with his camera, finally aiming it their motely group. There’s an intimidating red light blinking at Zayn and he doesn’t realize how stiff he’s gotten until Niall digs an elbow into his side. “Relax,” he says. “We’ll edit out any awkward bits. Josh just likes ‘t film everything, so we have enough ‘t edit later.”

“Wouldn’t have to edit so much if you two weren’t such fuck ups,” Josh says from behind the camera.

“Ignore him,” Niall says easily. “Tell us about your haunting.”

“Well, um, Liam’s the one who--”

“But you live here, too,” Harry interrupts. “Tell us, in your words, what’s been happening?”

“Um,” Zayn says, and a cupboard bangs loudly in the kitchen. “That?” he offers.

“Did you get that, Josh?” Harry asks excitedly.

“Yes,” Josh answers. “And I wouldn’t have to edit that bit out later if you’d stop making stupid comments.”

“Right,” Harry says. Niall fails to muffle a giggle into his hand. Zayn wonders, if he murders Liam, would he come back and haunt this flat? At least Zayn would know for sure there was a ghost.

His homicidal thoughts are interrupted by the creak of the front door opening. Both Harry and Niall turn expectantly towards the noise – even Josh has his camera aimed towards the hall – but then Liam stumbles into the room, greeting everyone with a friendly smile.

“Oh, hi!” he says. “You must be Harry and Niall! And you are…?” he asks the camera politely.

With a sigh, Josh drops the camera and offers Liam a hand. “Josh. The cameraman. Please. Ignore me. It makes editing so much easier.”

“Right,” Liam says. “Sorry, I was in class. What’d I miss?”

“Zayn was about to tell us what’s been happening in your flat. You know, ghost-wise,” Harry answers, smiling dopily at Liam. Josh scrambles to get the camera back in position, red light still blinking threateningly.

Liam shoots Zayn a nervous look. “Zayn’s not,” he starts, clearing his throat. “Zayn doesn’t really believe in ghosts. He’s a, whatchamacallit, a--”

“A skeptic,” Harry says, green eyes gleaming. “How… intriguing. So, Zayn, you don’t believe in ghosts? And, Liam, what exactly do you think is going on?”

“Well,” Liam starts, licking his lips and flicking his eyes towards Zayn in a vaguely panicked way. “I don’t. I don’t know how else to explain what’s been going on?”

“It’s not hard to explain,” Zayn huffs.

Niall raises a dark brow. “Yeah?”

Zayn meets the challenge in his cool blue eyes. “Yeah. Mostly we get banging noises, the occasional bit of vandalism. We’re close to campus, lot of students about, not hard to figure they’re the culprit.”

“So they what, break into your apartment and fuck shit up?” Harry asks. Josh groans from behind the camera.

“Sorry,” Harry murmurs. “So they what, break into your apartment and mess things up?” he repeats. Zayn shoots him a quizzical look and he hastily explains, “We don’t as many views with swearing. We’re hoping for a timeslot on the Travel Channel, you know.”

“Haz,” Niall moans, “we’ve talked about this. Don’t talk about the Travel Channel when we’re working. Focus on the case, yeah?”

Harry nods. “Right. Yeah. So, Liam. You sent us a really, um, _interesting_ email describing your, erm, dilemma. Care to elaborate?”

Liam eyes the camera warily, as if he didn’t realize this whole debacle would be filmed. He seems to sense Zayn’s knowing smirk, because he sends Zayn a deathly glare before he starts informing Harry, in excruciating detail, every piece of evidence he has in his arsenal about their alleged haunting.

Zayn barely suppresses a yawn, and Niall elbows him again. “What about you, Zayn?” he asks, interrupting Liam’s monologue. “You agreed to have us here, what’s your take on what’s been happening?”

“Like I said,” Zayn says. “Loud students, other tenets… it’s an old building, not well insulated. We get quite the draft in the kitchen. There are a lot of explanations that make more sense than a ghost.”

“Why do you say that? A ghost would explain everything. Very logical.”

“Because ghosts. Aren’t. Real.”

Suddenly, the overhead light flickers, once, twice, three times before shutting off completely.

“Josh! Did you--”

“Yes, Harry. I got it.”

“How do you explain _that_?” Harry asks triumphantly.

“Blown fuse. Excuse me, lads, while I go take a look.”

-

After Zayn’s got the lights back in working order (it _was_ a blown fuse, he notes with satisfaction) and Josh puts his camera away, there’s a unanimous vote to order pizza as everyone settles in for the night.

Zayn listens with half an ear as he chews a greasy slice of pepperoni. The rest of the boys are plotting out how they’re going to conduct their ‘research’ and conferring with Liam on all the ghost ‘hot spots’ around the apartment. Zayn does his best to tune it out, catching only snatches of the conversation.

“… know much about the history?”

“Well, I know it’s an old building. Zayn? How old is this building?”

Zayn shrugs. “Dunno. There’s a local history section in the library. We could probably find out some information there.”

“Thought you were a skeptic. Don’t believe any of this ghost business.”

Zayn looks at Harry. “I don’t believe in _ghosts_ , mate. Pretty sure libraries are real.”

Niall starts laughing at that, cackling madly and burying his face into Harry’s shoulder. Harry shoves him off, petulant, and Niall flops back onto the floor, still laughing. Josh seems entirely unconcerned, still shoveling pizza into his mouth. “Niall, you and Zayn can go to the library tomorrow then,” he says around a mouthful of cheese. “Harry, Liam, and I can review the tapes we film tonight, see if we get anything during the night.”

“This is so exciting,” Liam says, practically bouncing in his seat.

Niall glances over at Zayn, lips stretched in a sunny smile. There’s a bit of pizza sauce caught on the corner of his mouth and Zayn’s fingers itch to wipe it off. “You and me, eh?”

Ignoring the swooping sensation in his stomach, Zayn takes another bite of pizza instead of answering. Niall’s grin softens, like he can see right through Zayn’s tetchy exterior.

He waits what he thinks is a socially polite amount of time before retreating to the safety of his bedroom, leaving Liam to play gracious host and break up the fight over who gets dibs on the couch.

-

“Holy shit! Come look at this.”

Zayn looks up from the yellow-paged book he’d been half-heartedly skimming to where Niall has been painstakingly pouring over old newspapers on the library’s database.

He gets up, stretching his arms above his head, and hears his spine crack obnoxiously before walking over to peer over Niall’s shoulder, careful not to let his arm brush over the fabric of Niall’s t-shirt. _DEVASTATING FIRE CLAIMS THREE LIVES_ the headline screams.

“Check it out,” Niall says excitedly. “I’ve been searching through the archives for any references to your address. Did you know there was a fire that gutted the whole building?”

“No,” Zayn says slowly. “When was the fire? It doesn’t look like the place has been re-built in the past few decades.”

“1932, according to the article.”

“Hmm,” Zayn murmurs noncommittally.

Niall swivels around in his seat, forcing Zayn to take a hasty step back so Niall’s face doesn’t end up smooshed into his stomach. “Hmm?” he repeats. “Hours of research finally leading ‘t an exciting discovery, and _hmm_ is all I get? I’ve just figured out how your ghost probably died!” His tone is serious, but his eyes are dancing with humor, nearly sparkling despite the dim lighting.

“Well,” Zayn hedges, biting his lip to stop it from curling up into a smile, “I mean, should we really call a devastating fire ‘exciting’? Seems a bit, like, morbid to me.”

“Killjoy,” Niall retorts, grinning up at Zayn. Without missing a beat, he pokes Zayn twice on either side of his chest and a third time right above his belly button. He doesn’t press all that hard, but Zayn crumples a bit on instinct, hunching his shoulders and sucking in his stomach as if Niall’s touch had burned him.

“What was that for?”

With a shrug, Niall turns back towards the newspaper, reaching for a notebook to jot down the details of his discovery.

Zayn stands there a moment longer, thoughts churning restlessly, before retreating back to his own desk. He rereads the same sentence five times without comprehending it before he gives up, shoving his chair back forcefully.

At Niall’s curious glance, he digs a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket. “’m going for a smoke,” he explains, somewhat unnecessarily.

Niall just smiles knowingly at him before dropping his gaze back to his notebook, and Zayn bolts for the door.

-

He smokes two cigarettes down to the filter.

Watching the smoke dissipate into the frosty winter air, he thinks about how ridiculous it is to chase a fantasy, something as intangible as a ghost. He thinks about the unsettling way Niall looks at him, like he’s already got him figured out, like Zayn’s just another mystery to be solved. He thinks about how stupid it is, that ghosts aren’t even real, but that they brought Niall crashing into his life, anyway.

He wonders, maybe, if it’s a little bit like fate.

-

Zayn’s barely got the key in the lock before Liam is shouting excitedly from the living room. “Zayn! Niall! You guys are not gonna believe this.”

“Yeah, probably won’t,” Zayn mutters under his breath. Niall laughs, pushing past Zayn and heading down the hall.

They all pile onto the couch so they can see the screen of Josh’s laptop. He’s got some kind of video editing software up and Zayn can see a still shot of his dark kitchen. It looks creepy and alien, lit by green night vision, but you can still clearly see the familiar outline of the cupboards. Josh’s cursor hovers over the play button.

“You guys ready?” he asks, his eagerness making him sound a bit breathless.

He hits play and nothing happens for a minute. Zayn holds his breath, feeling a weird sense of anticipation. Did they actually get footage of something interesting? Some kind of proof of what’s really been happening?

The living room is silent except for the hum of the laptop as all five boys watch the screen anxiously. Suddenly, a tinny creaking noise comes from the speakers. Zayn can barely make it out, but it looks like the far cupboard door has slowly opened. The clip is still again for another minute, and then the cupboard door slowly creaks closed.

Josh pauses the clip and looks around expectantly.

“Holy fucking SHIT!” Harry yelps. “That was _amazing_. Oh my god. I can’t believe you captured that!”

The rest of the boys break out into excited cheers, but Zayn just scratches his head. Niall catches his eye, raises a brow questioningly at him. “Not impressed?”

“I mean. We already knew the cupboards opened on their own? I’ve heard it happen a billion times. Not sure what this proves.”

“It proves no one has been sneaking into our apartment and messing things up,” Liam says smugly.

“Could still have been a draft. I told you, the kitchen is really drafty.”

“Ugh,” Liam groans, but Niall is brandishing a weird-looking walkie-talkie at him. “Let’s see what the EMF reading was, hmm?”

“EMF?”

“Electromagnetic field. Ghosts give off energy, so you can monitor spikes to pinpoint supernatural activity. A high EMF reading shows that there’s a concentrated amount of energy in a small space. The energy of a spirit, if ya will.”

“Of course. Very… scientific.”

“Can’t prove ‘t the skeptics that ghosts are real without science, right?” Niall smiles warmly, like he knows Zayn is just humoring him. Josh starts typing furiously on his laptop and Zayn watches with mild interest.

Niall narrates while Josh’s fingers fly over the keys. “See, we set the EMF recorder up in the kitchen, right, and this program that Josh and I developed records and time-stamps energy bursts. We set the threshold high enough that we don’t usually get false readings. We can compare any unexplained noises or movements captured in the video camera against the EMF readings, see if there’s a correlation.”

“That’s actually… wow.” Zayn says. He’s a bit impressed, not that he’ll admit it aloud.

Niall just grins before turning towards the laptop.

“Ha!” Josh exclaims a minute later. “Look at this. Huge energy spike when the cupboard opened. Shit, I don’t think we’ve ever had a reading so high. This is the real deal.”

Harry whoops excitedly and Niall jumps off the couch to do some sort of sloppy Irish jig. Liam’s grinning ear to ear, like he didn’t learn what an EMF was all of five seconds ago.

“This calls for a celebration,” Niall declares.

-

A celebration, as it turns out, means pints.

Lots and _lots_ of pints.

The five of them get absolutely pissed, and even Liam’s cheeks are flushed an inebriated red. He spends the better part of the night giggling into Harry’s neck, until finally Harry pulls him to the dance floor, where they wiggle their limbs about in an embarrassing approximation of dancing.

It takes a hazy minute for Zayn to process that there isn’t actually a dance floor in this pub and that Harry and Liam’s flailing is only possible because they’ve knocked over several barstools to clear space.

Not long after that, they’re tossed from the pub. Niall gets a bit indignant and threatens to punch the bouncer, but Harry wraps his spaghetti arms around him in a huge bear hug and half pushes, half carries him out into the chilly night air. Josh holds the door with tired patience, and Zayn thinks fleetingly this might be a standard night out for them.

He’s not quite sure how they get home, or when exactly his hand slipped into Niall’s, but suddenly they’re all standing outside the flat, complaining loudly as Liam takes several tries to get the key in the lock. Harry cheers wildly when the door finally swings open, grabbing Liam’s face in his hands and planting a smacking kiss on his lips.

Liam’s face turns the most hilarious shade of pink Zayn’s ever seen, and before Zayn knows it, he’s doubled over, wheezing with laughter, Niall’s hand abandoned in favor of clutching his stomach. It’s Josh, maybe, that finally manages to get them all inside and locks the door behind them.

Once he regains his composure, Zayn staggers towards his bedroom, kicking his shoes off along the way. He peels off his shirt and trousers, only tripping once when they get caught around his ankle, but he lands in a sprawl on his bed anyway, so he counts it as a win.

He’s groping around blindly for the edge of the duvet when someone flops onto the bed beside him, landing half on his legs. He failed to flip on the light switch when he stumbled into the room, but there’s a slice of moonlight carving through his open blinds, illuminating a pair of glassy blue eyes.

“Niall,” Zayn mumbles sleepily.

“C’n I sleep ‘n here?” Niall slurs. “’s warm. You’re warm.”

“Yeah,” Zayn breathes. “’s all right.”

With a happy little murmur, Niall crawls up the bed until he can tuck his head under Zayn’s chin, his soft hair tickling Zayn’s jaw.

Zayn sighs in contentment as Niall settles against his chest. He lost his shirt somewhere along the way and his skin is like a furnace where it’s pressed against Zayn’s. Niall’s got a loose fist curled over Zayn’s heart, and he wonders if Niall can feel it beating out a steady rhythm against his palm.

It’s the last thought he has before he drifts off to sleep.

-

Zayn wakes up to a pounding head and a warm body beside him. It takes him a minute to get his bearings, but the sight of Niall’s sleep tousled head brings back a flood of memory.

Despite the chill in the room, Niall’s pushed the blankets down to his hips, showing off the pale expanse of his back. Zayn can see a few freckles dotting his skin, constellations Zayn doesn’t feel like he’s allowed to see. He clenches his hands into fists to stop his fingers from reaching out to touch.

His headache is growing worse by the minute, so with a quiet groan Zayn crawls out of bed, careful not to jostle Niall’s sleeping form, and shuffles to the kitchen for a glass of water and aspirin.

Someone’s already in the kitchen when he stumbles in, perched on the counter and banging their feet rhythmically against the cabinets. Zayn grunts in acknowledgement before grabbing a glass from the cupboard and filling it from the sink. It’s not until he’s gulped down half the water that his brain catches up and he realizes he doesn’t actually know the person sitting on his countertop.

“Um,” he says.

The boy cocks his head, studying Zayn with narrow blue eyes, a shade icier than Niall’s. His hair is ridiculous, looks like a disheveled bird’s nest, but somehow suits his pixie face and the sharp cut of his cheekbones.

Zayn licks his lips. “Who are you?”

The boy doesn’t answer, just smirks and winks theatrically at Zayn.

“Seriously, mate, are you a friend of Liam’s or something, because--”

Zayn cuts himself off abruptly because the boy has _disappeared_.

There’s the sudden sound of shattering glass, and Zayn realizes distantly he’s dropped his glass of water.

He keeps staring at the spot where the boy was just sitting, but the only thought his brain can produce is _what the actual fuck_.

-

Zayn vows to keep The Incident to himself. Probably it was a trick of the light, or, like, a hallucination. He was pretty hungover. He imagined the whole thing, most likely.

He lasts a full four hours before he cracks, pulling Liam into his room and shutting the door. He doesn’t know how to start, choosing instead to pace the room, biting at his lip anxiously.

“Zayn?” Liam asks cautiously. “You all right, mate?”

Zayn flops back onto his bed, an arm flung over his face. “No,” he mumbles, but it comes out muffled into his sleeve. He feels the bed dip as Liam settles next to him and gently pries his arm away.

“Hey,” he says softly. “You know you can tell me anything, right?”

Zayn grunts noncommittally.

“Besides,” Liam continues in the same gentle voice, “I think I can guess where this conversation is going.”

Zayn sits up abruptly. “You saw him too?”

Liam smiles indulgently. “I think we _all_ saw you guys. You weren’t exactly subtle last night.”

“Last night?” Zayn echoes. “What are you…” _Oh_. “No, this… this isn’t about Niall,” he starts.

“It’s okay, Zayn, really – but don’t you think you should be having this conversation with _him_? He’s looked down all day, doesn’t know why you’re ignoring him after--”

“No,” Zayn repeats, more forcefully. He doesn’t have time to process his unrequited feelings about Niall right now, okay, doesn’t have the energy to correct whatever false assumption Liam’s prattling on about. As if Liam’s one to talk about subtlety, anyway. “Liam. Listen to me. I. _Fuck_. I think… I think I saw the ghost.” It comes out barely more than a whisper.

Liam stares at him. “You saw the ghost?”

Zayn nods.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes,” Zayn hisses. “He was just sitting there, right, plain as anything and then – poof! – disappeared.”

“‘Poof?’ Just like that?”

“I mean, there wasn’t, like, an actual sound effect. He just, fuck, Liam, he just disappeared! Are you not listening?”

Liam furrows his eyebrow. “Are you sure it was a ghost?”

“Oh my god.” Zayn flops back down on the bed, rolling over until he can bury his face in his pillow. “I thought you of all people would believe me,” he mumbles.

“Shh, Zayn, of course I believe you,” Liam soothes. “It’s just. You don’t actually believe in ghosts.”

Zayn shoves his face in his pillow and screams.

-

It takes Liam several hours to convince Zayn that he isn’t losing his mind and to tell the rest of the lads about The Incident.

Zayn’s still not totally convinced on the first one, but with reluctance follows Liam into the living room where everyone is huddled together on the couch.

He slumps into the rickety armchair no one ever sits in, because it’s held together with duct tape and prayer, and maintains careful eye contact with the floor.

After a moment of awkward silence, Liam clears his throat. “Zayn has something he’d like to tell everyone,” he announces.

Zayn picks at his cuticle. “Um, like…” he starts haltingly.

“Wait!” Harry interrupts. “Should we be filming this? I feel like we should be filming this.”

“No,” Zayn and Niall say emphatically at the same time. Harry jerks a bit in surprise, glancing back and forth between them like he’s watching an energetic ping pong match, his gaze lingering on Niall’s unsmiling face.

“Okay,” he finally agrees, easily enough. “No filming. Zayn, you were saying?”

Licking his lips with a suddenly dry tongue, Zayn starts again. “So, um, I kind of…” he pauses, takes a deep breath. “Saw the ghost?”

For a moment, there’s nothing but shocked silence.

“You’re serious,” Niall says, disbelief written across his face, and his words break the dam of silence. Everyone is talking over each other then, and overwhelming wave of voices that Zayn can’t keep up with, threatening to drown him under a tide of questions.

“Be QUIET!” Niall finally shouts, and the noise cuts off abruptly. Zayn shoots him a grateful look until he remembers that he’s avoiding Niall’s gaze in a juvenile attempt to ignore his feelings. Not that he has feelings, like. It’s complicated, all right?

Niall’s answering smile drops from his face as quickly as Zayn’s eyes fall to the floor and Zayn wishes that he were good at this, that he knew how to just like someone without getting so caught up in his own head.

Niall seems unbothered though, and orders everyone to stay quiet so Zayn can explain what happened. He stutters over his words once or twice in his retelling, but more or less gets the story out. Harry’s first question is, interestingly enough, “was he fit?”

“Are you seriously asking me if the ghost was _fit_?”

Harry shrugs. “I always thought if I saw a ghost it’d look like mist or something. I didn’t think they’d look like _people_.”

A cupboard in the kitchen bangs loudly, making them all jump. Niall’s the first to laugh. “Think you offended him, Haz!”

Things sort of degenerate from there, and Zayn sneaks off to the balcony to smoke. He pretends he can’t feel Niall’s gaze burning a hole in his back, hotter than the ember flickering molten red at the end of his cigarette.

He doesn’t think about the way his head is so twisted up, thoughts tangling about a boy he hasn’t even kissed.

A boy who probably doesn’t want to kiss him back.

-

The second time Zayn sees the ghost, he’s just stepped out of the shower.

He tries to scream, but it gets caught in his throat, and instead he lets out this pathetical croaking sound.

The boy – ghost – boy ghost – _whatever_ – turns towards him at the noise. His finger is still pressed to the fogged up mirror where he’d been scribing something into the steam and Zayn notices with growing hysteria that he can see the bathroom wall through the boy’s slightly transparent body.

Zayn stares dumbly for a minute and the ghost’s (attractive, Zayn’s forced to admit, very, _very_ attractive) face crinkles into a sly smile. His eyes flick up and down Zayn’s body, dripping wet from the shower, and Zayn belatedly scrambles to grab a towel to cover himself up.

“Nice cock,” the ghost finally says, and walks through the wall like it’s nothing.

Zayn stands there gaping after him for a long minute, dripping onto the bathroom mat until it’s soaked, towel clutched tightly in his hand.

-

“That is so unfair,” Harry whines later. “How has Zayn seen the ghost twice, and he doesn’t even _believe_ in ghosts?”

“Maybe that’s why,” Niall reasons. “I mean, most of the hauntings were like practical jokes. Maybe he just likes ‘t fuck around with people?”

“Maybe he’s just obsessed with cocks,” Josh laughs, and Zayn shoots him a dirty look. He knew he should have kept that detail to himself. It’d seemed important, though, to let everyone know the ghost could talk.

(“His voice sounded all wonky, like dead leaves blowing in the wind,” he’d explained.

“Very poetic, Zayn.”

“Shut up, Liam.”

“Yeah, but what did he _say_? Did he give ya any clues ‘t why he’s here, or what he wants?”

“No, no, it was nothing important--”

“Zayn, we’re conducting an investigation, here. We’ll be the ones who decide what’s important, yeah?”

“You’re wearing a clip-on earring, Harry. I don’t think you’re a great judge of anything, if I’m being honest.”

“Play nice, you two.”

“Please, Zayn. We need ‘t know.”

“Fine. Fine! He said I had a nice cock, all right?”)

Harry stands up then. “I’m going to go take a shower!” he announces, and the room breaks out in snickers.

“Feel free to use my shampoo, Harry,” Liam says earnestly, and Zayn’s not sure if he missed the subtext or cares more about the state of Harry’s curls. Harry flaps a hand at him as he ambles out of the room. A moment later there’s a squeaking sound as Harry turns the taps and the shower starts in a rush of water. Josh and Liam have settled into a serious conversation about camera placement, something about trying to catch footage of the ghost, and Niall’s turned his attention to his mobile.

Zayn settles against Liam’s leg, trying to get comfortable on the floor and ignoring the vacated spot on the couch next to Niall now that Harry’s gone. It’s a losing battle, but Zayn’s always been good at pretending, so he fixes his gaze on the TV where a football match is playing at a low volume.

Not long later, Harry pops his head back into the living room, fresh from the shower, his wet curls plastered against his skull. “Uh, Zayn?” he asks. “You said the ghost was writing something in the mirror. Did you happen to see what he wrote?”

“No, um, the mirror cleared before I got a chance to look,” he answers warily. “Why?”

“You should see this,” is Harry’s cryptic reply, and then he disappears back down the hall. Concerned, Zayn levers himself off the floor and follows after Harry. The rest of the boys troop after them, curiosity winning over laziness.

The bathroom is still hot and steamy. Harry stands in the doorway and points to the mirror, now fogged up again, and Zayn can make out smudges where someone’s wiped their fingers through the condensation.

He steps closer to get a better look and feels his hands curl into fists when he realizes what he’s looking at.

“This a fucking joke?” he snaps at Harry. “Because it’s not very funny.”

Harry holds up both his hands, placating, and the towel wrapped around his hips slips a notch lower. He doesn’t seem to notice.

“I swear to you, Zayn, I did not touch the mirror. It was either you or the ghost that wrote that.”

“You think _I_ wrote that?”

There are murmurs coming from the hall where the other boys are trying to squeeze past Harry to see into the bathroom, but he’s turned so his body is blocking the doorway. “No, but you’re being awfully defensive about it. Something you’d like to share with the class?”

Zayn raises a hand to the mirror to wipe away the message, and Harry hastily steps into the bathroom and shuts the door behind him, right in Liam’s surprised face.

“Wait, okay, hold up. You can – you can smear it in a second, okay? But if you do, we’re going to need to tell the other boys why.”

“Only because you already told everyone there was something to see!”

“Zayn,” Harry says gently. “Don’t you think you’re overreacting a bit?”

Zayn is not, by nature, a violent person, but he thinks hard about smacking the patronizing expression off Harry’s dumb face.

“I think I’m reacting exactly the right amount,” he says, and swipes his hand across the mirror. “We’ll tell them you tripped and messed it up, but it doesn’t matter because it was gibberish anyway.”

He pushes past Harry before he can say anything else, opening the bathroom door with a whoosh of steam. He shoulders his way through the crowd of boys in the hallway, leaving Harry to explain.

Grabbing his cigarettes, he slams out the door to find a solitary spot to smoke, away from the overwhelming noise of _people_ in the flat.

It doesn’t help, really, because Zayn can’t escape the overwhelming noise in his head.

The thing is, Harry’s absolutely right. Zayn’s completely overreacting, but it feels like the entire universe is mocking him.

-

By the time he slinks back to the flat, the sun has long since set and the grime of the city has been bleached clean under the stark lighting of streetlamps. The flat itself is dark and quiet, loud snoring coming from the living room, so Zayn treads softly into the kitchen for a drink.

He should be surprised, he thinks, to see the ghost sitting there at the table, the soft light of the moon shining through the window making him almost completely transparent. Mostly, though, he just feels tired.

“Gonna slam a cupboard, then? Make some spooky noises?”

The ghost grins, sharp white teeth like a shark. “Nah, mate. Think I’ve found a better way to fuck with you.”

Zayn raises a brow at that. “That what you’re doing, then? Fucking with me?”

Shrugging, the ghost studies Zayn with electric blue eyes. “D’ya know how boring it is, being a ghost? Pranking people is like, the one perk.”

“You seem to enjoy voyeurism, as well.”

The ghost laughs. “Sorry about that, mate, I really did not mean to catch you naked.”

“Didn’t stop you from looking,” Zayn points out. “Anyway, what were you doing in the bathroom, then?”

“Did you see my message?” the ghost asks excitedly. “I was trying to be, like, mysterious about it, but it takes a lot more energy to move things about if you’re not corporal.”

“I saw the message,” Zayn says stiffly.

“And…?” the ghost prompts.

“What are you, a twelve year old with a crush?”

The ghost sputters indignantly. “Too juvenile for your taste? Would you have preferred I wrote out a Shakespearian sonnet? I’m not a subtle person, Zayn.”

“You know my name?”

Rolling his eyes, the ghost pretends to smack Zayn upside the head. “I’m dead, not an idiot.”

“Right.” He’s not sure what the etiquette here is. Do you offer platitudes? Condolences?

The ghost looks amused at Zayn’s discomfort. “’m name’s Louis, by the way.”

“Nice to meet you, Louis,” he says, feeling ridiculous. Does he offer his hand to shake? Can ghosts shake hands? Zayn is way over his head.

“We’re going to have a lot of fun, you and I,” Louis says, and promptly disappears.

Zayn stands in the dark kitchen a moment longer, staring at the spot Louis was sitting, wondering if this was just a weird dream. Eventually, he shuffles off to bed, not noticing the blinking red light of a camera perched on the kitchen counter.

-

By the time Zayn wakes up the next day, the sun is high in the sky and shining brightly directly into his eyes. He pulls the covers over his head and thinks about never getting out of bed again, but he has to piss so his resolve weakens pretty quickly.

Pulling on a t-shirt that used to be Liam’s, he cautiously opens his door and pads softly down the hallway. He can hear murmurs coming from the living room, which he studiously ignores as he slips into the bathroom.

In a nice change of pace, this time he isn’t interrupted by any voyeuristic ghosts. That reminds him, actually, of the strange dream he had last night. He’s still thinking about it as he heads back to his bedroom and he’s so lost in his own head that he runs smack into somebody.

Stumbling back a step, Zayn realizes with a jolt that it was Niall.

“Yeh all right? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

It takes Zayn a minute to work out that Niall is, in fact, joking. He smiles weakly, but can’t hold his gaze for longer than a couple of seconds. Instead he drops his eyes to floor, studying a particularly interesting scratch in the hardwood. Was that there when he moved in? The landlord will take it out of their security deposit if he has to sand all the floors, that can’t be cheap, and Zayn was counting on the money.

“Zayn,” Niall says gently. “Seriously, you all right? You’ve been quiet.”

“Yeah,” Zayn replies distractedly. “’m fine, just, like tired. Had a weird dream last night, I dunno.” He can _feel_ Niall’s eyes on him, calculating, and he knows, he _knows_ he’s coming up short.

“Sure,” is all Niall says. “Look, um…”

He sounds so uncharacteristically unsure of himself that Zayn actually looks up, catching his eye. There’s concern there, he thinks. “What?”

“You know… you know we were filming the kitchen last night?”

That is… not what Zayn was expecting. “No? Did ya see something interesting, then?”

Niall definitely looks worried now. “Maybe you should see for yourself,” he finally says, and gestures for Zayn to follow him into the living room.

-

There’s a weird tension in the room as Zayn settles onto the couch. The boys are oddly quiet, with none of their usual banter and laughs.

Josh already has the video queued up and ready to go, and after shooting Zayn an unreadable look, he presses play.

The video is similar to the first one Zayn saw, kitchen creepy and green in night vision, though from a slightly different angle. There’s nothing, no movement or sound, until the faint creak of the front door opening and closing off camera. A moment later a dark shape shuffles into the room, pulling up short so that only the outline of one shoulder and the side of its head is visible.

“Gonna slam a cupboard, then? Make some spooky noises?”

It’s Zayn’s voice, sounding small and tinny coming from the laptop speakers. There’s utter silence until his voice comes again, “That what you’re doing, then? Fucking with me?”

Zayn watches himself have a one-sided conversation with thin-air until Josh finally pauses the video. He doesn’t stop staring at the screen, eyes trained on the empty chair where Louis was sitting last night.

“You sure that was a dream you had last night?” Niall finally asks, voice soft like he’s afraid that Zayn will shatter into little pieces if he speaks too loudly.

With a groan, Zayn drops his head into his hands. “’m losing my goddamn mind,” he mumbles. Someone – Liam, he thinks – starts rubbing his back reassuringly. “Shh, babe, you are not losing your mind, I promise,” Liam soothes him. “Niall, would you – did you tell him about the EMF reading even? For fuck’s sake.”

“Through the roof,” Niall declares. “Shattered the old record. Which was also from your kitchen, actually. You’ve got a really haunted kitchen, mate.”

“That’s not all,” Josh cuts in. “Looks like you’re talking to yourself on the unedited video, right? But if you make some minor adjustments to the sound…” he brings up a complicated looking program and starts fiddling with it, bickering easily with Niall about the settings.

He plays the video again once they’re both satisfied, this time with an isolated audio track running concurrently. Zayn holds his breath as the video version of himself asks the first question, waiting to hear Louis’ response.

Instead of Louis’ voice, though, there’s a weird sort of white noise that sounds nothing like human speech. “What the fuck?” he asks. “What is _that_?”

Harry grins down at him from his perch on the arm of the couch. “That, Zayn, is the voice of a ghost.”

“Louis didn’t sound anything like that when I was talking to him.”

“Oh, _Louis_ is it. So you’re on a first name basis with him? Things are moving pretty fast between you two.” Harry sounds almost petulant. Honestly.

“Oh my god. I don’t even – I don’t even know his _sur_ name. I didn’t realize there were, like, ghost formalities I should be adhering to.”

Niall scrunches his face up at Harry. “Don’t listen to this baby. He’s just jealous he’s never seen the ghost.”

“Am not,” Harry pouts, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Is too,” Niall mouths, catching Zayn’s eye, lips quirked in a cautious smile. Zayn smiles back, hesitant, and it feels like the sun himself is beaming back at him when Niall’s face splits into a wide grin. Zayn ducks his head, still smiling, and swears he sees sun spots from the brightness.

“I think we should have a Ghost Watch,” Harry suddenly announces to no one in particular.

“A Ghost Watch?” Zayn asks warily. “What, exactly, would that entail?”

“The ghost apparently only shows up when you’re around,” Harry explains. “So we make sure you’re never alone. We’ll have someone stay with you ‘round the clock, watching for the ghost. That way, whenever he decides to show himself again, someone else will get to see him too.”

“No one is coming to the bathroom with me,” Zayn protests immediately. “Or sleeping with me.” The words slip out before he really thinks them through and he feels Niall stiffen next to him.

“Um, I mean,” he hastily tries to back-peddle, but Harry interrupts, squawking in outrage. “What! Zayn, you spend, like, all of your time sleeping or in the bathroom. This plan is not going to work unless we have access to you, 24/7.”

“What do you think this is, the Truman Show? Fuck off, Harry, you’re not watching me shower.”

“Fine. I’ll cede the bathroom. But you’re not sleeping alone, Zayn.”

“Harry,” Niall says warningly.

“Green’s not a good color on you, mate,” Josh adds. “Maybe you need to rethink your strategy so it’s not a gross violation of privacy, eh?” He turns to Zayn. “You were having an actual conversation with the ghost – Louis – right?”

“Right.”

“Well, next time you see him, could you ask him if he’ll show himself to Harry?”

Harry cocks his head, thoughtful, as if this was not a plan he had considered before.

“Yeah, sure, I mean, I can try,” Zayn agrees and Harry beams at him. “Louis is kind of a free spirit, though.”

The chorus of groans tells him his pun was well received.

-

Despite Zayn’s objections, Harry takes to following him around the flat like a lost puppy. He tries to be subtle about it, acting like he’d trailed behind Zayn into the room by chance, but he keeps giving Zayn these _looks_ when he doesn’t think Zayn is looking.

For a fun experiment, Zayn walks back and forth between the kitchen and living room five times in the span of ten minutes, doing dumb things like refilling his glass of water. Harry has a pained expression on his face, but he soldiers on, desperately feigning nonchalance. Zayn would admire his determination, if it weren’t so annoying.

“You going to follow me around all day, then?” he asks as he roots around the cupboard for tea he doesn’t want. He sees Harry startle out of the corner of his eye, looking immediately guilty.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he lies.

Zayn rolls his eyes. “Seriously, mate. I will ask Louis to show himself to you, or whatever. He seems pretty sharp, though. Don’t think you’re going to trick him by following me around, yeah?”

Harry smiles sheepishly. “Sorry. It’s just… I never thought I’d get to see an actual ghost, you know? I don’t want to miss my chance.”

He sounds so damn sincere. Zayn sighs. “Look, I’ll come watch TV with you guys, all right? Louis’ll have to show himself to all of us if he wants to come play.”

The dimples come out in full force, and Zayn’s quick to add before Harry charms him into more, “But I’m not kidding, when I go to bed, you are _not_ following me.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Harry replies. He bats his eyes at Zayn. “Besides, think Niall’s already beaten me to the punch.”

Zayn smacks Harry lightly on the back of the head, but otherwise lets the comment slide. No one has asked him about the ghost’s mirror message, and he has a feeling he has Harry to thank for it.

-

It’s late by the time Zayn shuts the bedroom door behind him with a quiet click. He’s exhausted, unused to spending so much time around people. He likes all the lads, he honestly does, but it’s draining having to socialize for days on end. A quiet book and a good night’s sleep will hopefully have him feeling recharged.

Shucking off his shirt, Zayn takes a step towards his bed before pulling up short.

Louis is sitting at the foot of his bed, smiling cheekily at him.

“Harry wants to see you,” Zayn says immediately. “Please go annoy him. You two can annoy each other. It’s a match made in heaven.”

“Now what’s the fun in that?” Louis asks. “I like annoying _you_.”

Zayn snorts. After a moment’s hesitation, he climbs onto the bed beside Louis. It’s weird, because Louis is a fucking ghost, but like. He seems so _normal_.

Settling himself against the pillows, Zayn studies Louis in the bright lamplight. He looks brighter, more solid, and he meets Zayn’s gaze head on, challenging, like he’s daring Zayn to comment on it.

“Why don’t you show yourself in front of anyone else?” Zayn finally asks.

Louis sighs, flopping back against the bed. He doesn’t quite touch the duvet, instead floating a few inches above it. “I’ve tried,” he says morosely. “No one else can see me. You’re the only one who can.”

“Really?”

Louis shoots up, laughing hysterically. “No, I’m just taking the piss. You’re so _easy_ to trick.”

Crossing his arms, Zayn slumps back against the headboard. “You’re literally the worst ghost I’ve ever met.”

“Zaaaaaayn,” Louis whines. “I’m the _only_ ghost you’ve ever met. Besides, how funny is it, only appearing in front of the one person who doesn’t believe in ghosts? The rest of them are shitting themselves with jealously, and I’ve nearly given you a mental breakdown. It’s win/win!”

“You’re a poltergeist,” Zayn accuses. “You’re worse than Peeves.”

“Who’s Peeves?” Louis asks, pouting in Zayn’s direction. “Have you been cheating on me with another ghost?”

“It’s from a book.”

Louis wrinkles his brow. “Gross. I hate books.”

“Please, Louis. Will you just show yourself? Harry keeps glaring at me, like it’s my fault.”

“I know,” Louis grins wickedly. “It’s hilarious.”

Without thinking, Zayn kicks his foot out and catches Louis’ thigh, like he would with Liam. Or, well. His foot hits the spot Louis’ thigh would be, if he were solid and human and real. Instead, it passes right through. It feels like Zayn’s foot has been doused in cold electricity, which is a completely illogical description, but he can’t think of a better way to describe the sensation.

“Holy shit,” he breathes, jerking his leg back on instinct.

Louis, for the first time since Zayn’s met him, looks a little apprehensive. He’s staring at the spot on his leg where Zayn’s foot collided, as if he looks hard enough, the secrets of the universe will be revealed to him.

“Ya all right?” Zayn asks. “What’d it… what’d it feel like from your end?”

“Weird,” Louis finally replies after a long minute. He looks up then, meeting Zayn’s eyes again. “But not bad-weird. Maybe not good-weird either. Just. Weird-weird.”

Zayn snorts. “Really descriptive, bro. ‘Weird-weird.’ Thought you were dead, not an idiot.”

“Oi!” Louis protests, but his smile is back to its full wattage, no hint of hesitation. “Weird-weird is a highly scientific term, I’ll have you know.”

“You’re so full of shit, I’m surprised your eyes aren’t brown.”

“Oh, cheeky.” They’re both grinning now, and it’s weird, Zayn thinks, how normal it is to be sitting here, having a conversation with a ghost.

“I’ll show myself to the other boys,” Louis announces suddenly, and for a moment Zayn feels a flash of disappointment. He wants the other boys to meet Louis, but now it kind of feels like he’ll be giving something up.

“…but I’m going to need your help,” Louis continues, eyes dancing mischievously.

Zayn grins at that. “What have ya got in mind?”

-

“A scary movie night?”

“Yeah,” Zayn lies easily. “I think it might, like, make him feel at home, ya know? Like we’re, ya know, supportive of ghosts.”

Liam narrows his eyes suspiciously. “You hate scary movies.”

Zayn sighs with just the right amount of exasperation to be believable. “I’ll close my eyes. Look, I haven’t seen Louis since that night in the kitchen. I think he’ll be drawn to a scary movie.”

“We could get a Ouija board,” suggests Harry. “See if he’ll talk to us through that.”

Niall shoots him a horrified look. “Are ya crazy, Styles?”

“We are _not_ using a Ouija board,” Zayn puts in. “Do you have any idea the kind of shit that would attract?”

Pursing his lips into a pout, Harry grouches, “You didn’t even believe in ghosts three days ago! What exactly do you think it would attract?”

“Nothing, probably,” Zayn is forced to admit. “But not believing in ghosts didn’t stop Louis from showing up in my kitchen. We are not fucking around with anything else supernatural that may or may not exist.”

“Seconded,” Josh says. “C’mon, there are so many underrated horror movies on Netflix. We can make a night of it.”

That perks Harry right up. “I’ll call dibs on picking the movie!” he shouts. Niall and Josh groan in unison.

“What? Why are you making that noise? What’s he going to do?” Liam asks worriedly.

“Haz’s got the worst taste in movies,” Niall moans. “He’s going to pick something black and white in French with subtitles we’ll have to _read_.”

-

Niall’s half right, anyway. It’s black and white in Danish with subtitles. It’s pretty gruesome though, with plenty of cheap thrills that make everyone jump.

It’s perfect.

-

They’re maybe halfway through the movie – film, Harry, insisted it be called – and the boys are all watching the screen with rapt attention. Zayn is squeezed onto the couch between Liam and Niall, thighs pressed tightly together, but it’s definitely the movie – _film_ – that has his pulse rabbiting like a jack hammer. Horror is scary in any language, okay?

His gaze keeps flickering around the room nervously, because unlike everyone else in the room, he knows what’s coming. He just doesn’t know _when_ , and realizes too late that this was a definite flaw in the plan he and Louis hatched up.

He feels on edge, and it’s definitely not because Niall has shifted, resting his arm over the back of the couch and brushing the back of Zayn’s neck. Zayn keeps his own hands neatly in his lap, running them over the tops of his thighs in a failed effort to soothe his jangling nerves.

There’s a sudden crash in the kitchen that has everyone jumping in fright (and a high-pitched yelp that Harry will vehemently deny later) and Zayn winces, wondering what Louis has broken. At least the question of “when” is answered now.

Liam leaps up to go investigate when the TV suddenly flickers, the screen changing to that awful static when a channel won’t come in. The light in the hallway starts blinking, on off on off on off, painting the living room in sporadic bars of light that illuminate a pair of shoes, walking jerkily on their own towards the couch.

It seems Louis has a certain flair for dramatics, but the wild-eyed looks on everyone’s faces tells Zayn it’s paid off. He thinks he catches Josh looking wistfully towards his camera – seriously, does _anything_ shake that kid? – but then he catches the slack-jawed horror on Harry’s face and has to make an effort not to laugh.

In what Zayn assumes is the grand finale, every window in the flat whips open at once, letting in the howling wind and make Zayn shiver in the sudden onslaught of cold air. The windows bang shut a minute later and the hallway light switches on again, spilling a catwalk of light into the living room.

Louis strolls through the doorway with casual indifference, careful to stay in the light. He’s a little fuzzy around the edges, like the show took a bit out of him, but he’s grinning so wide his face might crack in two.

Glancing at the dumbfounded faces around him, Zayn has to acknowledge the plan was a massive success. Just to be a prick, he starts clapping slowly. Louis doesn’t miss a beat, dropping into a theatrical bow.

“You _planned_ this,” Niall croaks as the realization dawns. “You were _in_ on this.”

“Oh my god,” Harry is babbling. “Oh my god, oh my god, that’s – that’s a real ghost, holy shit. Josh, Josh, where is the camera – Josh!”

Louis watches the scene unfold with clear amusement on his face. He catches Zayn’s eye and raises a brow. Zayn grins back, jerking his head towards Harry.

Swaggering forward, Louis doesn’t stop until his face is less than a foot from Harry’s. Harry is watching him with wide-eyed wonder, jaw slack and gaping. Louis pauses and the flat is silent, save for the sound of five thumping hearts.

“Boo,” Louis whispers, and Harry starts laughing a bit hysterically, clapping a hand over his mouth quickly to cover the noise. It’s enough to set the rest of them off and the room quickly dissolves into relieved laughter.

Louis surveys his work, looking pleased.

-

Harry seems to have it in his head that if they just keep assaulting Louis with questions, he’ll have to stay forever and answer them. Louis looks positively delighted to be the center of attention, though, so Zayn doesn’t think Harry’s got anything to worry about.

He stretches out on the couch, shoving his feet into Liam’s lap. Harry and Niall have both moved to the floor, where Louis is holding court, hovering cross-legged an inch above the hardwood. Josh is perched on the arm of the couch, looking a bit lost without a camera in his hands.

Harry pauses to take a breath and Niall jumps in, saying, “Sorry, you know, about the fire.”

“What fire?” Louis asks absently, eyes still on Harry’s delighted face.

“Um. You know, the one that… killed you?”

Harry whacks Niall, none too gently from the way he yelps in outrage. “Seriously, Niall? You can’t just say that!”

“Well what I am supposed ‘t say! Sounds fuckin’ dumb to tell him sorry for your loss. He didn’t lose _himself_ , did he?” He hits Harry back, and the two start rolling around on the ground like a couple of rowdy puppies.

“Whoa, hold up, lads. I wasn’t killed in a fire,” Louis interrupts, watching them with amusement.

“How did ya die, then?” Niall makes another sound of pain when Harry elbows him sharply.

“Oh. I don’t actually know.” Louis sounds entirely unconcerned.

Niall scoffs. “Then how do you know it wasn’t a fire?”

“I would have _remembered_ that.”

Harry stops wrestling with Niall long enough to look back at Louis with surprise. “So what, you don’t care how you _died_?”

Louis shrugs. “Guess not? Wouldn’t make me any less dead.”

“Huh,” Harry says, face twisted in concern.

“You’re cute when you frown,” Louis announces, and he darts forward to kiss Harry on the cheek before disappearing.

Harry reels back in surprise, hand cupping his face where Louis’ lips brushed his skin, and looks to Zayn for answers. “Why’d he go?”

Zayn shrugs. “Like I said. He’s a free spirit.”

The groans are even louder the second time around.

-

Louis reappears the next morning at breakfast, making Harry slop soggy cereal all down his front. He laughs uproariously about it and Harry’s too charmed to sulk.

Things get a bit more serious when Josh interrupts their flirting to ask what they’re going to do about the show.

“We need to get something edited and put up in the next week,” he reminds Harry and Niall. “I had to cut back hours at work to stay here this long. I’m going to need the revenue from views if I want to eat something other than ramen noodles this month.”

Louis adamantly refuses to be filmed “because I don’t show up, anyway.” It’s possible, Zayn thinks, that he’s a bit sensitive about it.

Liam’s eyebrows are growing steadily more concerned as the conversation unravels, everyone debating about what should be done. “You two are the ghost hunters here!” he finally yelps.

“Hang on a minute, now,” Harry corrects. “We don’t ‘hunt’ ghosts. We’re trying to prove their existence. We’re ghost _enthusiasts_.”

Zayn has to abruptly turn his snort of amusement into a cough when Harry shoots him an aggrieved look. He clears his throat. “Well, he obviously exists.”

“Yeah,” Harry scratches his head. “We’ve never, you know, had this problem before.”

“Oh, so I’m a _problem_ now, am I?” Louis asks. “Is my existence an _inconvenience_ for you?” He floats up towards the ceiling, like he’s too offended to stay grounded. Zayn thinks he can see a tell-tale twitch at the corner of his lips, though.

“I guess I just never thought about what we were supposed to do once we found a ghost. We could… we could help you cross over?” Harry sounds a bit desperate.

“I _am_ an inconvenience!” Louis shrieks, but his eyes are definitely twinkling “You’re trying to get rid of me already!”

“No, I swear, I’m just trying to – I just want to help!”

“I have an idea,” Niall says solemnly, and five pairs of eyes turn towards him.

-

A lot of unbelievable things have happened to Zayn in the past few months, and even more implausible in the last few days.

Right now, though, might take the cake. Zayn is squeezed onto the couch between Niall and Liam, half on Niall’s lap. Harry has crammed his lanky form between Liam and the arm of the couch, and it’s more or less a comfortable fit.

Louis had tried to lie across all of their laps, but got mad when he kept floating an inch or two above them. Despite Harry’s protests, he decided to lie (float) on the floor instead, head resting on his clasped hands and eyes shut serenely, the picture of contentment.

Josh carefully packs his things while Niall fiddles with his laptop, already hooked up to the TV.

“Ya sure you have ‘t leave?”

Winding a cord with a bit more care than Zayn thinks is strictly necessary, Josh shrugs. “I need to get back to work. I can take what we’ve filmed and edit it into something workable.” He looks at Louis, his gaze unreadable. “I’ll have to leave out the bit where we actually met a ghost, of course.”

Louis doesn’t bother opening his eyes. “Sorry, can’t hear you, I’m dead.”

“You’re a knob, more like,” Josh retorts, but there’s no mistaking the smile in his tone. Louis’ lips twitch in an answering grin.

The boys all give Josh hugs good bye (he gets two from Harry, even though Harry will see him again as soon as he stops free loading off Zayn’s couch). Niall swears up and down he and Harry can figure out the train schedule to get home on their own (Zayn promises to help and Josh shoots him a grateful look), and then the front door is slamming shut behind him.

“So,” Niall says brightly. “Is everyone ready for Ghost Whisperer?”

-

The boys marathon half the first season in a single afternoon. Even Louis gets sucked in, watching with engrossed interest as Jennifer Love Hewitt helps some orphan boys and their dog cross over into the light.

They all politely pretend not to see Harry wiping at his eyes.

“So, what have we learned from this, lads?” Liam asks brightly as the credits rolls.

“Jennifer Love Hewitt has great tits?” Niall offers.

“Niall!” Harry chides. “Don’t objectify women.”

He grins, like he was expecting the response. “We’ve learned, Liam, that ghosts are stuck on earth because they have unfinished business. Once they finish that business, they’re free ‘t cross over into the light and live happily ever after.”

“That’s such bullshit,” Louis complains from the floor. “Jennifer Love Hewitt doesn’t even know what’s on the other side of the light! What if she’s sending all those poor souls to hell? Hmm? _What then_?”

“I don’t know,” Harry says slowly. “I mean, they all looked pretty happy to see the light. I don’t think they were going to hell.”

Zayn takes a deep breath. “While I’m sure you all think this is a very… productive discussion, I think maybe we’re forgetting that this is a TV show? As in, it’s not real. Not even a little bit.”

“Yeah, but we don’t exactly have a lot of real things to go off of, do we?” Liam points out doggedly. “I don’t think it’s so far-fetched that Louis is stuck here because he has unfinished business.”

“Maybe my unfinished business is killing you, Liam. Maybe you’re meant to co-haunt this flat with me.”

“No, Lou, I think Liam’s on to something,” Harry chimes in. “Not like, that you have to cross into the light or anything. But maybe there’s a reason you’re a ghost? Something we can help you do?”

Louis beams up at Harry. “Actually, H, you might be right.”

Harry preens under the praise and Niall catches Zayn’s eye, pulling a face. Zayn feels a smile tugging at the corner of his lips that he doesn’t bother to hide.

-

Louis flat out refuses to tell Zayn what his unfinished business is. “It’s something Harry and I are working on,” he says haughtily. “And maybe Liam, I haven’t decided yet.”

“I know you’re dead, Lou, but I swear if you try to prank me I will find a way to kill you again.”

Louis moonwalks through a wall instead of responding, which, like, immature much? Ghosts are the worst.

-

For all his scheming, Louis is remarkably impatient. Harry’s no better – he’s as much of an overexcited puppy as Liam – so in the end, Zayn doesn’t have to wait all that long to find out what they’ve been plotting.

Zayn’s just stepped out onto the balcony for a smoke when the door creaks open behind him. Niall shuffles forward a minute later, leaning on the railing next to Zayn.

Blowing his smoke away from Niall’s face, Zayn asks, “What’s up?”

“Harry told me to tell you he’s making quiche.”

Zayn takes another drag off his cigarette. “And he couldn’t wait five minutes for me to finish smoking to tell me himself?”

Smiling, Niall shrugs. “Guess not. He and Louis looked like they were up to something. Thought it’d be safer out here.” He doesn’t say ‘with you,’ but Zayn hears it anyway.

Niall shivers then, so Zayn stubs out the butt of his cigarette in an old beer bottle he’s using as an ashtray. “Fuckin’ freezing out here. C’mon, let’s go inside.”

He reaches for the door handle, but the knob is jammed and won’t turn. Tugging at it more forcefully, he glances over his shoulder at Niall. “It’s stuck,” he says, surprised.

“Stuck?” Niall repeats. “It opened fine a minute ago.” He reaches out and tries for himself, but the door doesn’t budge.

“What the hell?” Zayn wonders aloud. “It’s never jammed before.”

The realization dawns on both of them at the same time. “ _Louis_.”

Zayn starts banging on the door, then, shouting for Harry and Louis to come let them in. “This isn’t funny!” he yells. “It’s fucking cold out! D’ya want us to freeze to death?”

He’s being a bit dramatic, maybe, but Niall has started shivering rather violently next to him. And no wonder – Zayn put on his leather jacket to keep away the worst of the chill. Niall’s just in a thin t-shirt, which doesn’t offer much protection from the sharp draft.

Shucking off the jacket, he offers it to Niall. “Take it, it’s all right,” he coaxes. “I’ve at least got long sleeves on.”

With a grateful smile, Niall slips his arms into the sleeves. Zayn’s stomach gives a funny jolt, seeing the black leather hanging off Niall’s skinny frame. He turns away from the sight, intent on banging on the door until his fists are bloody, but Louis’ face suddenly appears in the window.

“Let us in,” Zayn demands.

“Not until you kiss!” Louis yells back.

Zayn stares in disbelief. “Are you fucking kidding? You can’t coerce people into kissing. What’s wrong with you?”

Harry’s face appears next to Louis’ in the window. “You’ve been denying your feelings, Zayn. Even Louis knows about your crush on Niall, and he’s dead!”

There’s sort of a high-pitched squeak from Harry, then, as if he’s been doused in cold electricity. Serves him right, Zayn thinks.

“You’ve got a crush on me?” Niall asks, sounding surprised.

“He gave you his jacket!” Louis screeches. “He’s in love with you!”

“I’m not – oh my god, I’m not in love with anyone.” Niall’s face shutters, and Zayn adds hastily. “I mean, I might, like… I might fancy you a bit? But it’s totally not a big deal.”

Niall looks thoughtful, wrapped up in Zayn’s jacket. “Is that why you ignored me after we slept together? Because you fancy me?”

There’s a thump from inside that might be Harry falling over. “They slept together,” comes his muffled voice. “I knew it!”

“We didn’t have sex, you prick, we literally just slept in the same bed.” Zayn is freezing and mortified, the wind cutting through the fabric of his shirt like paper. “C’mon, I confessed, everyone’s had a good laugh, let us inside now.”

“Nope,” Louis says. “Kiss first.”

“Louis,” Zayn snarls. “You can’t just _force_ people to kiss. We are going to get hypothermia and die and I swear to god will spend the rest of eternity haunting you.”

Louis looks entirely unconcerned. “Maybe you should cuddle together for warmth. Very romantic, like in Titanic.”

Zayn closes his eyes, letting his forehead thunk against the glass. “Have you even _seen_ Titanic?”

Harry scrambles off the floor and his face pops back up in the window. “Titanic is the most romantic movie of all time.”

“Haz. Jack _dies_ ,” Niall whines. “Like we’re going to if you don’t get Louis to open the fucking door.”

“Wait, what, he _dies_?” Louis looks taken aback and he pulls Harry into a hastily whispered conversation.

He comes back to the window a minute later. “On the grounds that death is not actually romantic, I’ve made the executive decision to let you back inside.” Harry is standing next to him, looking a bit sullen, but then the door handle is turning in Zayn’s hand and he and Niall are stumbling into the warmth of the flat.

“I’m going to kill both of you--” Zayn starts, but Niall grabs his hand and tugs him further into the flat.

“Kill them later,” he says. “We’re going ‘t go talk somewhere that isn’t a freezing balcony right now.”

Zayn ignores the happy whoops from Louis and Harry as Niall drags him towards Zayn’s room. They bump into Liam in the hallway, who looks red and sweaty, like he’s just gotten home from a run. He starts to say hi to them, but Niall just leads Zayn around him and into the privacy of Zayn’s room.

Niall shoves the door shut behind them and walks Zayn backwards until his knees hit the edge of the mattress and he falls back, catching himself on his elbows.

“What--” he starts to say, but Niall cuts him off.

“You bloody idiot. Do ya really fancy me?” He shrugs Zayn’s jacket off and throws it somewhere on the floor, but his cheeks are still flushed from the cold and his lips look red and chapped.

Zayn feels his face heat up and hopes Niall can’t tell he’s blushing. “Um. Yeah?” he says in a small voice.

“Why didn’t ya _tell_ me that?”

“I, uh,” is all he gets out before Niall pounces on him. His lips are cold against Zayn’s, but when he opens his mouth into the kiss, the heat goes straight to Zayn’s gut.

“Nnpf,” Zayn says, hands reaching up to grab onto Niall’s hair and pull him in closer. Niall lets out a quiet groan at that, collapsing on top of Zayn.

They stay in Zayn’s bed the rest of the day. They don’t fuck, but they don’t sleep, either.

-

By the time they emerge, Niall’s hair is an absolute wreck and Zayn’s sure his is no better. Niall’s lips look red and swollen and Zayn is pleased that he’s the cause of that.

His shirt is also on backwards, but it’s not like it’s a mystery what they’ve been up to, anyway.

They head to the kitchen, where there’s still some of Harry’s quiche left. Zayn feels famished – turns out spending all afternoon snogging someone’s head off is exhausting work – and he starts wolfing down a plate.

Louis walks through the wall right as he’s taking a bite and it’s a testament to how quickly they’ve adapted to having a resident ghost that Zayn doesn’t even bat an eye.

“’m still gonna kill you,” he promises around a mouthful of food. Niall doesn’t stop chewing, just raises his fork in what Zayn thinks is agreement.

“Lucky for me I’m already dead,” Louis says as Harry and Liam trail in after him. “Anyway, I’ve found my divine purpose. I’m clearly meant to be a matchmaker. Like cupid, but more dashing.”

Zayn chokes a bit, eyes watering as he struggles to swallow. Liam pounds helpfully on his back. “Is locking people out on freezing balconies your idea of matchmaking?”

“Look, Zayn, we can’t all be perfect on our first try. Besides, my co-conspirator gave me misinformation.”

“Heyyy,” Harry protests, but suddenly something shifts on Louis’ face.

“Oh my god,” he says softly, staring at nothing in particular, eyes wide and round.

“Lou?” Harry says cautiously. “What do you see?”

“It’s… light,” he answers, looking awed. “The most incredible light. It feels… peaceful.”

Harry looks stricken. “Louis…” he says, and it comes out barely more than a whisper.

Louis is walking forward, though, gaze intent on something the rest of them can’t see. He doesn’t look back, just keeps walking until he suddenly blinks out, like he was never there at all.

There’s a sniffle from Harry and Niall’s quick to leap up, wrapping him up in a hug. Harry buries his face in Niall’s neck, arms clinging to his back. “He didn’t even say goodbye,” he mumbles, the words muffled against Niall’s shirt.

Zayn and Liam exchange helpless glances. Niall is rubbing his hand up and down Harry’s back, shushing him with soft words. He’s remarkably fragile, Zayn thinks, if he can be this devastated losing someone he’s known barely a week. He doesn’t think about prickle in the back of his own throat.

Not a minute later, there’s a loud bang in the living room that sounds like someone’s dumped every book on the shelf onto the floor. Harry jerks his head up and there are definite tears in his eyes. “What was that?” he asks, hope creeping into his voice. Pulling out of Niall’s arms, he rushes from the kitchen and the rest of them follow suite, Zayn abandoning his half-eaten quiche without a second glance.

He runs smack into the broad expanse of Harry’s back in the doorway to the living room. Standing on his toes to peer of Harry’s shoulder, it immediately becomes apparent why Harry’s stopped so abruptly.

Louis is standing in the middle of the living room, surrounded by a pile of books that look like they’ve been hit with a hurricane.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” he says and Harry laughs wetly. “You _prick_! We thought you’d crossed over!”

Louis scoffs. “You can’t believe everything you see on TV. God, you people are so gullible.”

“That was a terrible prank,” Liam scolds. “You made Harry cry.”

“Did not,” Harry sniffles, rubbing the back of his hand over his eyes, smearing the obvious tear tracks.

“Aww, love,” Louis coos. “Don’t you know I could never cross over? I’ve got so much unfinished business here.”

“Yeah?”

Louis grins and his eyes crinkle into half-moons. “Do you have any idea how many unhappy singles I’ve got to play cupid for? Besides,” he adds, his smile turning mischievous. “We haven’t even figured out if ghosts can have sex. I’m going to need some real ghost enthusiasts on the case.”

“Count me out,” Niall says at the same time Liam blurts out, “You _are_ obsessed with cocks!”

That sets the rest of them laughing, Niall turning to press his face into Zayn’s chest. Zayn’s arms wrap around him on instinct, and it’s weird, he thinks, how quickly these boys have wormed their way into his heart. He wonders, really, what the chances are that a ghost could bring people together like this, boys that feel more like brothers than friends.

He thinks, maybe, it’s a lot like fate.

**Author's Note:**

> as always, comments/feedback is hugely appreciated. you can also come say hi to me on [tumblr](http://moondoggiestyle.tumblr.com/)!
> 
> also, what louis wrote in the mirror was zm + nh in a little heart. i never managed to get that detail in the fic.


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